Slime prince

With a shove, the young Prince Rudd was swallowed up by the darkness of the dungeon.

“Go!”

Ina, his master and head of the royal guard, turned his back on him, brandishing his battle axe above his head. Determined to await his pursuers and annihilate them.

"I'll catch up with you in a moment, Your Highness!"

The prince nodded, unable to look at him, rubbing his palms against the cloak that covered him, having hurt himself breaking his fall. Ironically, the pain in his back was overwhelming him, certain he could trace the warrior's handprint by paying attention to the throbbing flesh.

“I have to run. If they catch me, it’ll all be over. Lord Ina will fight better if he doesn’t have to protect me.”

The dimly lit corridor seemed endless and empty. His ears, sharpened by danger, caught the metallic echo of swords. The Alman invaders were no strangers. The rulers of the three great nations shared an ancient queen as a common ancestor. Those who hunted him were actually his first cousins. The bond, meant to maintain peace, exacerbated the war.

“Ha... ah... ah...”

If only his body were a little stronger. His lungs felt red-hot, and a whistling in the back of his throat as he gasped for air. Pressing his fist to his chest, he slowed his pace slightly and, trotting, slipped a dagger into his free hand.

"This is... choosing one danger to avoid a greater one."

Although it wasn't common for monsters to lurk on the first floor of the dungeon, nothing indicated that they couldn't appear. The black monolith, which jutted out like a rotten tooth from the earth, strangely shaped the surroundings and hardened his warriors; especially Bretalda, his nation, because it was relatively closer than the rest. Old legends warned of waves of monsters that would ravage primitive villages to devour humans. But that had been going on for a long time, and the people, accustomed to it, saw the dungeon as a valuable resource to exploit.

The prince blinked back his anthracite hair, heavy with sweat on his eyelids, tempted to look over his shoulder.

His body flew, thrown against a rock column inside an empty room, and fell one floor, then another, and another, and another.

“How stupid! I completely forgot about the traps!”

His voice faded into the darkness. Falling like a ruptured bag, the prince’s body crashed to the floor, his back wet with warm blood, emitting a horrible sound. Pink foam oozed from the corners of his mouth as he tried unsuccessfully to move his fingers. If he had had his staff, he would have protected himself with magic or at least lessened the damage. A powerful magician became a puppet when stripped of his tools. He cursed his inexperience, his weak body, his lack of care, and, secretly, his father. King Damasus would now be locked in a cell in his own castle.

Delirious, he thought he heard him in the darkness; Her sibylline voice whispered in his ear:

“An existence like yours. Pray for me, for your mother, that our kingdom may remain prosperous and never know your reign, that is all you can do. Stay out of the way, pray, and die peacefully.”

A shy smile formed on Prince Rudd's lips. He would not pray, not even for his own salvation; he could never convince himself that that was the way to deal with the deities. His condition was so pitiful that he didn't notice the watery shuffling sound that was slowly approaching from a corner.

Hucup… hucup…

The small slime ruminated in the zebrish darkness of the dungeon, wandering the corridors in search of food. Inside him, pieces of wood and stones slowly disintegrated, turning into manna, brushing against the magic crystal that gave it life and was coveted by hunters. The slime prided itself on the size of the crystal, which took up a considerable amount of space in its body. Originally, it had a dull color, like that of the cold sky, but, after feeding on small monsters and dust bunnies for a time, it now emitted a reddish-purple light from time to time. Truth be told, it was in a precarious situation, trapped on the lower floors, with food scarce, and hunters and larger monsters could find it at any moment. Although the slime didn't realize it, only instinct kept it from leaving the dungeon, using the crevices and steep paths between the granite walls, in almost absolute darkness. In search of food, he crawled floor after floor, chasing small prey, which in turn scurried toward the light outside or the dampness of the ground.

Nothing remained on that floor, and thanks to his hard work, the area remained spotless, free of dust and dirt.

Slide, slide...

The floor gleamed and slippery as he wandered through the hallways, moving back and forth between rooms. Entering a dusty room, he stood still.

"Something" was there.

Listening to the silence, he crept inside, following the dark stain that daubed the wall. Shrugging himself up, he gave a small jump and entered the darkness. In front of the slime, a banquet that would keep him busy for a long time awaited him. Slowly, he measured the body in front of him, trying to encompass it completely. It was the largest rat he had ever encountered, and the slime was happy to find him still warm.

The clouds outside dissipated, casting a ray of sunlight into the room, which faintly struck the rat's pale cheek. No. It wasn't a rat. The fur, though abundant, covered only the tip of its head; the rest was... shocking. The humans he remembered had cold, soft skin, hard, metal hearts, and their limbs cut through the air. The limousine remained motionless, waiting. Then, seeing nothing happening, it slid down, molding itself like a blanket over Prince Rudd's slender thighs, down to his leather boots, avoiding the dagger. He smelled blood, and the taste of iron penetrated his body, staining it.

The limousine stretched out over his chest, and two small, snail-like horns ran across the back of the young prince's head without touching him, finding a fatal wound.

“You're going to eat me.” The voice made him step back.

The slime felt the piercing gaze upon him. And for a moment, he was ashamed of not being able to deny it. Yes. He was going to eat him; if he didn't, he would die too. Many days had passed since the last rat, and he was painfully hungry. But, for the first time, he felt it was a shame to devour him. There were no more words. Prince Rudd just stared at him for a moment longer and closed his eyes, a trickle of blood running down his chin.

“…”

The translucent mass began to rise up the golden buttons of his coat. He wanted to save his face for last, because it seemed quite pleasant to look at while he was digesting. When it reached his shoulders, for a moment he thought he saw his prey, turning its mouth upward, give him one last solitary look.

Gulp, gulp…

Slime covered the prince's body like a tent, from the bronze soles of his boots to the tips of his hair. The magic stone floated across Rubb's chest like a badge, spitting reflections onto the ground. Once comfortably settled, the slime entered a deep reverie. His consciousness flowed slowly, tracing the shape of his food, the small gems, the loose strands that stirred within, the tassels of his cloak. In that silence, he dreamed for the first time. A human dream, the product of the encounter.

In the dream, his body lay suspended in total darkness. And it shone like a drop of dew. The magic crystal in the center seethed rhythmically. His gelatinous body arched and began to stir as well, stretching into thin filaments that regrouped again. The prince's body was gone, and his blood dyed the gem a bright red.

Frightened, the limousine tried to stop him. Something was changing. A hand appeared in the darkness. The hand touched a milky breast, and in the center of that breast lay the crystal that absorbed the light. That was his breast, his hand, and it observed everything through his eyes. The limousine wondered how he knew all this, which was so foreign to him. Eyes, feet, hands, head, knees… floor, sun, cloud, dungeon, castle, mother…

The voice inside his head recited small bits of information. And it continued speaking to him for a long time.